SOUNDASLEEP
by HAPPYLU
Summary: Between the fraction of time and space where the dimensions of day and night seem almost intertwined, he cries. — Alistair


&---**SOUNDASLEEP ;  
**

**i. **It's shameful and shameless and it's all drowned in a bottle of vodka.

Because he knows what he's become; an empty shell of a once-proud man who succumbed to a broken heart. He's played his part in her story magnificently, and he tells himself pretty words as his throat burns for his next fix. He doesn't rightfully deserve the encore as he pictures a man in long, midnight hair and stainless steel. His fingers ache for something he's forgotten a long time ago; he can't remember the last time he's held a sword in his fingers or pulled it from its sheath. Eyes like the sun search the tavern lifelessly, and he wonders if he's always lived his life like this or if he's been imagining the whole thing.

There is a tap on his shoulder. He stirs, legs shifting and eyes widening. The world settles on half-Technicolor when he'd rather it'd just be on mute. There is more tapping merely seconds later, and he shoves the hand away, leaving his trouble to whimper helplessly on his right.

"Sire, about your bill…" the man says quietly, and more tapping comes hard on his aching shoulder like bricks. The man with a gloved hand sets down a piece of paper to the dirty wooden table and lets him to further wallow in his misery.

"Make sure to sodding pay it before you leave," he warns, and he steps away from him and towards the counter.

The man groans, face dug deep in his hands, further than the hole he's dug himself into with the bill. He glances around the tavern again with sleepy eyes, at the people who partake in card games, at the people who are putting food on the table by putting their bodies on the line, at the nobles who give malicious looks at the other nobles to the far side. Everything, everything, he curses and takes another drink, everything corrupted.

**ii.** He remembers a time when he knew a girl.

A girl, he says, breathing death and hope at the same time. He speaks to no one in particular, but manages to grab a few patrons and a few whores with his sultry and brooding voice. They wonder if they've ever heard him talk. One man wonders to call the guards.

He continues, however, because it's his mouth and his mouth wants to say whatever it wants whenever it dares.

She was beautiful, he whispers into his glass. The world becomes a gray haze and liquid salt falls from his eyes and to his goblet. She was smart, witty, and as strong as anything, yeah, he cries, but Maker she was beautiful. She was a tiny little thing—

he hiccups and chokes on his saliva. A few patrons turn their gaze then, because he was a nobody and nobody trusts nobody.

—I could listen to her all night. And I wanted to. There was a time, where, all I wanted to do is hold her and stare at a fire until it burned out. And her voice would keep on drawling until morning, until both of us had passed out from exhaustion.

The counter-man returns a second time, but his hands hold no papers. He points silently to a woman in the back, almost naked and face dirty. She grins impishly at him and nods her head to an empty storage room.

Alistair scowls and takes his last sip before getting his gear, leaving a few coins on the table, and storming out.

**iii. **He almost forgets what he sounds like.

It's sad because he remembers a time when even he would get tired of his own voice, talking about everything that seemed fit. She would listen, staring out kindly towards their companions and towards the fire. Her head against his chest, and he'd ramble on about a past, a present, and their future.

Sometimes he'd think it was all an illusion, because his life couldn't be _that good _to just _lose it_ but here he is, looking for one more tavern table to waste his gold on, empty shell walking on its liquid diet.

**iv.** Between the fraction of time and space where the dimensions of day and night seem almost intertwined, he cries.

Because he loved her and he still loves her and he's sober enough to remember.

---&

( **a / n** ; Inspired by the little snippet that happens at the end if you let Loghain take Alistair's place.  
He becomes a lonely, sodding drunk. 3  
_And I like him this way._ )


End file.
